Tallows
by Kit Bryn
Summary: Maybe Tyler's hate is better than his indifference. Maybe Jack's ubermensch isn't really what he wants. T for language, smut. Initial Jack/Tyler, on to Tyler/Angel Face, Jack/OC. Finally finished!
1. Un: Boil, Skim

There's this song that kills people if you sing it to them.

It's ridiculous magic fairytale-land lies, but I briefly wonder what would happen if I said it to Tyler.

It's called a culling song, I say, and it killed nine people.

"Cool," Tyler says.

Tonight we're sprawled out in the back of a VW van, the back of my head against his stomach, his breathing slow and even. A pizza box is dying in the front seat.

Hey, Tyler, I say. Tyler, if you could kill people with that song, who would you kill?

"Your boss," Tyler says, laughing. I say I hope he's joking.

"I'd want you to say it to me." Tyler says.

Oh, Tyler, why would you say that? That's not funny, I wouldn't kill you.

"You would. We always kill our fathers and marry our mothers." Tyler says.

Tyler, this isn't Greek tragedy. This is Delaware.

He laughs. "This is revolution! This is mayhem! Anarchy, mischief, nuclear Armageddon!"

Tyler says, Tyler says, Tyler says.

I wouldn't read you the culling song, Tyler. I like you.

Tyler says "Really?" and looks down at me, trying to make eye contact. I tilt my head back to connect to his gaze.

Yes, I like you. You're my best friend.

Tyler says "Thanks" and leans back again.

Hey Tyler, I say, what's my name?

Tyler says "Whoa, hey, I don't even know."

I wasn't expecting you to know, Tyler. I never told you.

"Are you going to tell me?" Tyler says.

I don't think I will. I smile. The hole in my cheek puckers.

I can finally keep a secret from Tyler Durden.

I'm using Tyler's stomach as my pillow. He uses his arms for his. Body heat provides blankets.

Hey, Tyler, I kind of love you.

"Cool," Tyler says.

Yeah. Cool.

Fuck. Fuck you. So you don't love me.

"I didn't say that." Tyler says.

I sit up. I want to hit him. But I remember the tears on his face after he poured lye and vinegar on my hand and made me piss myself. The great Tyler Durden can cry.

The great Tyler Durden has a heart.

"Hey," Tyler says, "get back down here, it's cold."

He makes me laugh. I lie down.

He grins crookedly and pats my good cheek. "Good boy," Tyler says. Good boy indeed.

We're partners, I say, right Tyler? You're not above me, I'm not above you?

Tyler says "Yeah," and lights a cigarette. I watch his lips wrap around the filter.

"Can I give you a lye-kiss, Tyler? Can my lips be on your hand?"

Tyler laughs and says "Yeah, cool."

Gee thanks. I wish he'd stop laughing at me.

I steal his cigarette. Put it in my own mouth. Can't taste his spit past the smoke.

Fuck you, Tyler Durden. Stop making me laugh.

Can we go dancing, I say? He doesn't look up.

Tyler? Hey, Tyler?

Tyler's asleep. Tyler snores. I give up and curl up next to him.

Tomorrow I'm taking you dancing, Tyler.


	2. Deux: Mother Of Pearl

Hey Tyler. Hey, Tyler. Hey, Ty-ler. Ty-Ty-Ty-ler.

"What?" Tyler says. It's not often I pester him like this.

Hey, Tyler. We're going dancing. We have money. I don't care what it messes up. We're going to have fun.

Tyler laughs and says "Hey, cool. Looks like you grew balls."

Hey, shut up, Tyler, and get your coat on, we're going out.

He says "Okay," and shrugs.

This makes me ridiculously happy for some reason. The thought that me and Tyler are going somewhere normal. Somewhere with people. Somewhere we can be alone without being alone, the center of attention.

I hope he doesn't run away from me. I want him next to me at all times.

Hey, don't leave my side, okay?

"Someone's clingy," Tyler says.

"Where'd you put my jacket?" Tyler says.

Tyler says, touch your toes. Tyler says, help me make soap. Tyler says "Where is your mind, Ikea Boy?" Blink. You lose. Tyler didn't say.

I say Tyler, I was playing a game. Doing a crossword. What's a three-letter word for rodent?

Tyler says "Rat." I believe him.

Let's go, Tyler, hurry up, okay? I want to go.

"Keep your pants on, kid." I giggle. Tyler, c'mon, your hair's fine.

So we leave.

Tyler dances the way you'd imagine a blond angel like him would dance. Only he's white, so he's not very good.

Boom, rimshot.

But he's laughing at me and I'm laughing at him, so it's all good.

"Hey, Jack," Tyler says. Hay is for horses.

"Hey Jack, when's your birthday?"

I tell him. It makes him laugh.

"You would be a Virgo." Tyler says.

Stop making me blush. Keep dancing.

Suddenly he's way too close. Yanking my hand to his face. Reading my love and life lines.

"You will meet a beautiful blond Aquarius and instantly fall in love." Tyler says.

Hey, Marla's an Aries. Am I safe? What are you?

"I'm an Aquarius."

Oh, shut up. Go find a girl, Tyler. Stop picking on me.

He's still way too close. Messing with me.

"Hey, hey Jack. You're a Virgo and I'm an Aquarius." Tyler says.

Those signs aren't even compatible, Tyler. Go away.

Tyler's lips are on my palm.

Hey, wait.

Tyler's hands drag me outside.

Hey, hey, Tyler, wait.

Tyler's lips crash against mine.

No, no, hey, wait, no…

Tyler says "No?"

No, Tyler, no.

Tyler pouts.

"Not cool." Tyler says.

I apologize, even though I shouldn't.

Tyler shrugs and laughs it off. Says "Hey, our signs aren't compatible anyways."

Oh thank God.

Hey, Tyler, I say. I still kind of love you.

Tyler says "Cool."

Yeah, cool.

Hey, kiss me again.

"No man, you kiss me."


	3. Trois: Armsrace

Hey, Tyler.

"Hey, Jack, what?" Tyler says. He's distracted. Busy. We're buying groceries for the first time in months. We have little monkey mouths to feed.

The lights glare and the whole place smells stale and unclean. Tired mothers push kids with sticky red faces. Old women shuffle on their last legs.

Hey, Tyler, I say, don't all the monkeys have to shave their heads?

"Yeah, so what?" Tyler says. Tyler reads the back of a box of three-bean salad.

You didn't make Angel Face shave his head. He's still running around, blond as ever. Mister fucking Angel Face.

Tyler says "Well, I like Angel Face."

Fuck, I know what it means when Tyler likes someone.

How much do you like him, Tyler?

Tyler shrugs. "Enough to buy him tofu. You wouldn't believe what that kid can ramble on about."

Really, I don't think he and Tyler talk in words.

Does he have your cigarette burns marching up his arms, Tyler?

Tyler says "I quit smoking anyways."

I call bullshit.

What about Marla, I ask?

"What about her?" he says. He's riding the cart like a little kid.

Tyler and Marla, doing it, doing it, doing it. I wonder how Tyler even found time to talk to me in between. I can't compete for his attention, and now even the monkeys are taking him from me.

Does Marla know about your favorite little monkey?

Tyler says "Marla doesn't know anything anymore. But she still knows too much."

Can we get rid of her, for good, Tyler?

Tyler laughs. I hate it when he laughs at me.

"If you can do it," Tyler says, "you're welcome to."

He puts tofu into the cart.

I have no chance.


	4. Quatre: Sunshine

Mister Angel Face. Mister fucking Angel Face.

He's so weirdly clean and happy, whistling while he makes soap in the dirty filthy crawling kitchen. A clean spot on a dirt-covered window. Sunshine's let through.

Angel Face. That little spot of sunshine on the floor that dust motes dance through.

No wonder Tyler spends so much time 'teaching' him.

He looks up.

"Hello, sir," he says. He looks like a chipmunk when he smiles.

It takes every cell in my body not to beat him to a pulp there.

Stay away from Tyler.

"What, sir?" he says. His confused face doesn't lessen the chipmunk effect.

Stay. Away. From. Tyler.

He blinks. "But sir…"

He knows I'm not joking now. I don't think my face even remembers how to smile.

I walk away.

Tyler asks me about it later.

"Were you talking about me?" Tyler says.

"You promised me. Three times you promised me."

I don't care anymore. The house is too full. My skin itches with it. Seventy-four people were not meant to share seven bedrooms, a basement and a singular bathroom.

"Hey. Ikea Boy. Answer me." Tyler says.

No, I lie. I wasn't talking about you.

"You scared Angel Face." Tyler says.

I didn't say a single thing.

Tyler says "I'm beginning to think you're crazy." Tyler grins at me.

My face tries to smile. The hole in my cheek puckers. It's blowing kisses at Tyler.

Tyler says "Stay away from Angel Face."

Am I supposed to argue with him? Is that what he wants me to do? Refuse to stay quiet?

"And stop running your mouth, for Christ's sakes."

Oh.

No, Tyler wants me to shut up.

Oh.

I realize that Tyler doesn't want me around any more.

Oh.

I'm calm as a Hindu cow.

I don't plan to leave, Tyler.


	5. Cinq: Ubermensch

Watching Tyler through the crack in the door, I'm wondering, how long will it be before he notices me?

Watching Tyler's mouth move from Angel Face's mouth to the curve of Angel Face's perfect neck, I'm thinking it's gotta be soon.

Tyler and Angel Face on Tyler's bed, and Tyler's hips and between his hips, and I'm standing outside the door watching.

I'm starting to think the crack in the door was left there for a reason. Tyler, bragging. Tyler, taunting me. Tyler's own everything-blond way of saying 'I don't need you. Look at what I have. Look.'

Me, standing there, breathing softly, I'm watching, and yeah, I'm kind of jealous.

Well, kind of doesn't ready cover it. Me, I could go in there and grab Tyler by the back of the neck, pull him away. I know I'm strong enough. I could tear Angel Face apart. I swear, I could.

But right now, I'm just watching Tyler's mouth leaving glistening tracks of saliva all over Angel Face's neck and chest. Kisses without the lye. Stinging me.

Tyler, he peels his shirt off, and I can see all the little muscles moving under the skin of his back. Tyler's hands on the boy's jeans, undoing them, and I am so totally Jack's Flared Nostrils. I am Jack's Arousal, because I can imagine myself in the place of Angel Face.

Angel Face sighs like I would sigh. He says 'Tyler' the way I would, and his hips arch upwards like mine would.

Watching this, my face freezes into a Hindu cow mask. Watching this, I'm counting one, counting two, counting three…

I don't know. Something about watching them kind of makes me hard.

Watching Tyler push himself into Angel Face, I'm tired of this game. Watching this, I've become Jack's Ennui Incarnate.

I'll deal with this later.


	6. Six: Role Reversal

**Y'know, I've never seen Jack with an OC in a fanfic.**

**Maybe it's time.**

**Maybe Jack and Tyler really just aren't supposed to be together.**

* * *

Sometimes I wonder if Tyler's hate wouldn't be better than his indifference.

Tyler, he hasn't spoken to me in weeks. I've seen him, sure. Laughing with his favorite little Angel. Eating meals from huge white bowls. Sitting at the kitchen table in clouds of steam, just laughing.

Tyler, I don't think Tyler ever stops laughing.

Tyler hasn't found out about Gage yet.

* * *

Gage.

Gage is blond and blue-eyed. Put him in some fatigues and make him stand at attention, he's Hitler's wet dreams.

Gage is the only one who notices me around here anymore. Marla stopped calling. Tyler's still ignoring me.

Gage offered me a cigarette on the stairs one day.

And, well, things went from there.

Gage tells me he's eighteen. That he heard about Project Mayhem through Angel Face, how they're third cousins or something.

I asked if they were all that blonde, and Gage laughed and said yeah, actually, they are.

Gage used to be working the perfume counter at Macy's. He tells me how he'd come home stinking of Armani and Gucci and Stetson, and how after a certain amount of test sprays he had a callous on the index finger of his right hand.

Gage tells me that he's started selling Tyler's soap.

I can't help but think maybe he doesn't want to be here. That maybe the house is full and he doesn't really have any of the normal Space Monkey jobs.

Gage hangs out with me all day on the weekends. We do normal people things like going to the park. Catching a movie. Saturday night we go out for drinks.

I think maybe Gage loves me. A little.

The sick-puppy way he looks at me, I know I've seen that look somewhere.

I used to see it reflected back to me in Tyler's sunglasses.

My own face, the bruised-fruit way it looked, you'd think I was dying.

I'm starting to think that maybe

_ (Big, big maybe)_

I don't need Tyler.


	7. Sept: Matyr

"Sir?"

Yeah?

"Sir?"

It's just Gage. He just wants to know why my door is locked.

Gage, he sneaks into the room, looking timid. He stands with his gaze on the floor and his hands behind his back. Guilty schoolboy. Hitler Youth.

I just don't have the heart to tell him, poor thing.

Tyler knows the trick to the lock. Tyler's been sneaking into my room more and more lately.

Tyler still ignores me in the rest of the house, but it this room, I can almost guarantee I'm the only thing on his mind.

The fact that I lock the door just to hear him picking it, well, how am I supposed to tell that to Gage?

Gage, who loves me?

Gage, my little golden boy?

Well I just can't shatter the boy's feelings like that.

But being with Tyler is like having a hole filled that you didn't know existed. It's amazing. Having that other half in here, paying attention to _me, _really me. All of me. Every inch.

You can't tell an eighteen year old boy that his lover is still sleeping with his best friend.

So in this room, I try to pay as much attention to Gage as Tyler pays to me.

Retribution. Punishment for my sins, oh yes.

The way I figure, every time I kiss him, it's an Our Father. Every time he moans, that's a Hail Mary.

I'm such a martyr.

* * *

"Jack."

Hmmm?

It's just Tyler. Tyler on my bed, next to me, and his face is nothing but the warmth of his breath in the dark.

That sweat-and-blood smell, I get the feeling that's me.

"Why are you sleeping with one of my Monkeys?"

Oh.

Shit.

He knows.

Oh.

We have just lost cabin pressure.

"Um…"

We're all going to die.


	8. Huit: Retribution

Okay, so, long story short, I ended up in the hospital.

Well, there was a scuffle, first. Tyler, his hands wrapped around my neck, and before you can blink I'm up against the wall.

I've noticed that Tyler's very territorial.

Tyler says "You're ruining Project Mayhem with your love and your sugary-sweet-little bad romance and your mawkish little crush."

Oh, Tyler, what does this have to do with Project Mayhem? If you're going to ignore me, I can have a boyfriend…

This, I don't say. What I do say is, _hypocrite._

This was the wrong thing to say, obviously.

Tyler's knuckles, the ones I'd kissed before, well, they smashed into my jawbone with the crunch of bone and the sickening noise of breaking skin. Blood boils from the wound. Christ with his nails. The back of Tyler's hand then comes back in a slap.

This slap, this is the most degrading thing I've ever felt. This is spousal abuse. This is the slap drunk husbands give their chicken-mother wives after more than a few Coors and a lot of junk food.

Then Tyler's hands come around the back of my neck, and they force me into a bow as his knee comes up into my ribs.

Those ribs he broke still twinge when I breathe.

At this point, his hands around my neck are making things get dark, darker, darker. Tyler's hell-bent on killing me, I think.

Retribution for my sins.

The trial for my error.

My own personal crucible, my cross.

My sins rising to the surface. The pure mother-of-pearl tallow scraping away.

Crucifixion.

* * *

Like I said, I ended up in the hospital.

Gage was the one who managed to drag my asphyxiated carcass far enough into a car to drive me here. I guess I owe him an apology.

But my God hath unleashed his fury, and I shalt know no other God but he.

Tyler can be a cruel bitch-master, but I know that I'll always be his, world without end.

My father, my holy Spirit, the creator of my karma and my dogma, Tyler.

World without end, amen.


	9. Neuf: Bitchgod Monster Interlude

Tyler can't even keep his eyes open when I'm wasting away.

Well, that's not entirely true. My windpipe is swollen, and my ribs are taped, but it's not so bad after a while.

With enough morphine, you can do anything.

Tyler snores next to me. I think he's playing security guard, but I can't be sure.

No one's allowed to visit but him. Not even Gage.

Tyler's been a territorial monster bitchgod monster lately. He can't disguise it with get-well-soon cards and chocolates, either.

I'm a prisoner of my own hopeless romantic entanglement. Shotgun-wedded to my spiritual enlightenment. Inmate of the Hare Krishna Saint Tyler The Father, my teacher.

Dream brother, my killer, my lover.

It's not so bad, after a while. Tyler's snore are in synch with my heart, the soft blips of the monitor. When he stirs, the careful lines of my heartbeats spike into panic. If he wakes up, he'll punish me, I know.

This is what I've come to expect, but that doesn't mean I'm used to it.

The setting of this little stand-off isn't helping. Hospitals are morgues with smiley face buttons. All the color is bleached out of everything. Every bruise and cut and burn looks worse tenfold under the leaching fluorescence of the lights.

Crank the color down, turn the gore up, charge for it. This is American health, and it's killing me.

But hey, maybe it'll choke the life out of me before Tyler does.

It's a hope.


	10. Dix: Minotaur, Labrador

I'm not dead yet, but I'm starting to wish I was.

I couldn't pay for any more time in the hospital. I tell Tyler this one day, after that maddening stretch of silence.

So Tyler stands and presses the 'up' button on my morphine-drip regulator. A lot.

I don't even have the energy left to ask him what he's doing.

After a few minutes, the morphine floods into my veins like a lullaby and coaxes me into a semi-coma. Bliss.

There's no Tyler in this dreamless sleep. I don't know if this is a good thing or a bad thing anymore.

I can't think anymore. I can't pretend to forgive Tyler for forbidding Gage from me, or breaking my ribs and crushing my windpipe. I can't forgive him for his pride or his lust.

I mean, I'm not that much of a martyr. I can sacrifice myself all I want, but I'll never be a saint like Tyler is a saint.

But I can't forget the way tears and sweat streaked down his face after he released my lye-burnt hand, the smoke curling away in phantom waltzes, the air screaming with searing flesh. I can't forget the way he pulled me from the wreckage of the ruined Cadillac, the way he dragged my ass back to Paper Street and tended my wounds.

God, Tyler is so full of contradictions. He can be Our Father of Cheap Sunglasses or my best friend, ever. He can be my lover or the abusive father I never had.

But in sleep, confusing shit like this isn't important.

What's important is that this is a break in the insomnia. That I'm actually sleeping.

Sick, morphine-induced, unnatural sleep, but sleep nonetheless.

And there's nothing.

* * *

When I wake up, I'm almost sure I'm still in the hospital until I smell the baking bars of soap and bleached smell of rice drifting from the kitchen.

Oh, that Tyler. He stole the machines from the hospital. My heartrate's still blipping regularlike by my bedside. The morphine's still dripping away.

Tyler delivered me from the hospital and brought everything I'd need.

Okay, sometimes he's pretty great.

The only problem with this is that I can't move to go find him, and I'm hungry as hell. I wonder how long I've been out.

And shit, my throat feels like I've been on a steady diet of steel wool. So no yelling for him.

But he'd probably be nowhere to be found if I did call for him. One of his monkeys would be upstairs, upping my dosage and telling me to shut up and be patient.

But oh, God, Gage is curled up, asleep, in the molding armchair in the corner of my room.

Gage is here. Gage cares.

The pang of guilt I feel, it's a meat hook to the heart. Poor Gage, my Hitler Youth, is still waiting for me to wake up.

That old saying, that the people you love end up killing you? It's working three ways for me.

I love Tyler, but Tyler'd kill me for loving Gage. I also love Gage, but Gage would die for loving me.

And Tyler can do whatever the hell he wants.

Fuck.


	11. Onze: Operation Morphine Intermission

After a while it's pretty easy to let go of time.

A few weeks in a cramped army cot, smothered in morphine sleep, with only Gage to talk to, well, this could be weeks or it could be eternities.

Minutes, maybe.

Gage is the only life that remains. The rest of the house has been emptied. Big monkey mission, Operation Avalon Pegasus. Whatever that means.

Gage, his mission is Operation Babysit Jack.

Seriously.

Gage, he tells me that Tyler's in Dover or somewhere. Maybe all the way in Pittsburgh. Taking over, starting franchises.

I'd be there if I wasn't still crushed.

Me, I'm not healing any. My windpipe is still crushed. My ribs still twinge.

At least now I can make it to the bathroom. I don't even want to tackle the stairs.

Gage has been feeding me with money Tyler sends. I guess this means that somewhere my saint still cares.

Most of the time this means he sends pizza money for the babysitter.

The one thing you notice is the endless boredom. Gage brings me books but they're useless.

Mostly he just talks. Tells me stories about Macy's or Angel Face or how much Tyler talks about me.

Comfort comes in the form of words.

At nights I still lie awake. Hope for the sound of a car, of Tyler's Gucci loafers on the stairs.

Even with Gage, I'm alone.

This is the period of static. The intermission. The interlude. Morphine haze and Gage and his hands and his forehead kisses. Babysitter.

I think he loves me.

Fuck.

Gage loves me.

Fuck.


	12. Douze: Tyler: Phantom, Malnutrition

**Tyler**

Ascending the stairs, I'm thinking, man, he's been locked up in that room for weeks.

I mean sure he's got figments of his imagination, but I always thought I was his favorite. Apparently I've been replaced by the blonde. Gage.

Jack, he's really gone psycho now. Bar none.

Now there are two of us. Me, Gage. Phantoms. Figments. Imagination overdrive.

He's been in bed. Four weeks. Healing, I guess. He made me send the Monkeys away, pretend there was a mission. Send them on a goose chase. Make them buy me ten white vans. Unmarked, unregistered.

Ascending, he calls to me.

"Tyler?"

Never answer. Make him wait.

"Tyler?"

In the hallway, I pause.

"Gage?"

Ah, so Gage isn't there with him anymore.

I really am his favorite.

His door isn't closed. His door is never closed.

Leaning in the doorway, I can see his face, pale, gaunt. Destroyed like jeans they sell at Abercrombie, destroyed.

And he smiles, and the hole in his cheek opens. Like lips, perfect pucker, Italian sofa plush.

And I smile back and say hey, psycho boy, long time no see.

"Tyler," Jack says, and his face is lit up.

Sliding down the wall to sit beside his cot, he watches me. Eyes like the abyss.

When you stare into the abyss, the abyss also stares into you.

How does he not know? That I'm him? His dream brother?

Killer, lover.

Jack, his cracked lips part, and he tries to say something, but I just hand him a beer and tell him he looks thirsty.

When was the last time he ate, I ask? And he says maybe three days ago.

Jesus H.

He's starving us. Me. Our body, the body I use. I should have been here to make him eat. Should have been awake.

I was sleeping because that's where he wanted me to be.

I grab his shoulder and heave, and he's so thin. He's starving us!

Dragging him downstairs, when really it's him dragging himself, he says "Tyler, man, I could so go for Chinese."

Yeah, I say, me too.

I have to feed him. Me. Feed our body.

So I sit him down at the kitchen table and say, wait here.

I go to the freezer. Take out one of the baggies filled with liposuction fat, someone's thighs.

I squeeze out the white goo and add California onion mix from the cupboard. This and a bowl of chips, and he's attacking it.

Cannibalizing the society that holds precedence over him, and I say, cool.

I say, I'll order some real food.

Really, I'm saving myself, but saving him, well.

I'll always be his saint.


	13. Treize: Gage: Our Mother of Figments

**Gage**

Jack, he's slowly getting better.

Tyler is there, and Tyler is taking good care of him, yeah, feeding him vitamins and Gatorade and cheap cheeseburgers.

Imagine his piss, rich yellow and stinking of a daily allowance of b-vitamins. The smell of America.

Me, I'm thinking, just when are you going to leave?

Me, I know I could take much better care of him.

I mean, Tyler doesn't love him. Tyler just loves his body.

But me. I love him.

Tyler can act all father-figure head honcho he wants, but I'm the one who wants him to get better. Wants the hole in his cheek to close up, wants him to be able to breathe without wheezing, wants him to stop clutching at his broken ribs.

Maybe Tyler thinks he's the favorite, y'know, but me, I'm his mother.

Kind of.

I'm the mother figure he misses, I guess.

Put me in a dress and make me smile, and I'd be a woman with a tough pretty scowl without scars or wrinkles.

This is the way he wants me to look. He wants me to watch over him and kiss his wounds and cook him meatloaf, the whole Leave It To Beaver hobby kit.

Our Father of the Cheap Sunglasses, Tyler.

Me, I'm Our Lady of Nurture and Love.

Jack is my job, and Jack is the mind that gave life to me, and Jack is my lover.

In the end we all kill our fathers and marry our mothers.

So I guess I have hope.


	14. Quatorze: Gemini, Chapped

Marla comes over and she slings her buttermilk sallow carcass on the fainting couch in the living room, and she purrs, "Where have you been, Pumpkin?"

Marla in her dark dress with a pattern of slow-motion roses, I look up from my Reader's Digest and the kitchen table and say, isn't Melanoma tonight?

Marla, her dark eyes and chapped Italian leather sofa lips, she smiles through her hair and says "Sometimes you're better than the support groups."

Marla, the dark purple bags under her eyes and the cheekbones poking through her skin, we're starting to look more like twins.

Brother and sister, and the thought makes me gag. How could I compete for Tyler's affection?

She stands to make her way over to me, unsteady in wedgie heels, that smile still on her thin fox's face. She sits herself down at the kitchen table and makes to take my hand before I pull it away. She looks down at the kiss on my hand.

"I missed you," she coos, and all I can think about is how Egyptian royalty married cousins and siblings. I scowl down at her and say, go, get out.

I'm not in the mood for this today.

Marla, she sighs and goes back to the couch to pick up the Styrofoam carton she left there.

"Here," she says, and the smile returns. Her teeth are yellow. "I brought you one of my dead neighbor's meals. You look thin."

Gee, thanks, I say, and roll my eyes. I'm not eating a dead woman's meal.

Marla pouts and stands again, black brows knitted together in anger. "Fine," she spits, "I'll come back when you're not being a suckass twofaced douchebag."

Whatever.

And again, I'm reminded of the way brothers and sisters fight.

Marla leaves, and I have a bad taste and my mouth.

I pull the Styrofoam carton in front of me and open it, and inside is meatloaf and a withered salad and a roll.

Well, whatever. Her neighbor's not getting any deader.


	15. Quinze: Cinderella, Redemption, Ending

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.

Tyler chuckles and kisses the back of my neck and tells me to relax, no need for Catholic Schoolboy Jack tonight.

Tyler and I are melted together, big spoon and little spoon, in his room with the peeled wallpaper and mildewy mattress and candles and cigarettes, and the house below is empty, and I don't care, because all of this is nice.

It's warm.

It's autumn, and all the windows are open, and the old autumn leaves smell filters into the house, washes out the baked-soap smell and the bleached-rice smell and the one-bathroom-for-seventysome-people smell.

And then there's Tyler's smell, the cigarette and hair gel and human smell, and that's the best smell.

His breath is warm in my hair as he exhales slowly, and his flat rough palm is running along the ribs that he broke. His lips travel around my neck to my throat as I turn my head to look up at him, and he smiles down at me and says, "Sorry."

Tyler says, "I didn't mean it. Jealousy's a bitch, y'know?"

Tyler, I say, I was pretty damn jealous when you were with Angel Face, and uh, I didn't attack you.

And Tyler laughs and says "That's the difference between you and me, Jackie."

Yeah, yeah, yeah, you hush, I tell him, but I'm grinning as his lips make the journey to my ear and stay there, telling me how warm I am, how much he missed me, how he won't leave again.

I don't believe him, but this is enough for now.

This is all I can ask from Tyler, a warm autumn night from him, alone together, Mommy and Daddy back together again, all healed up. Fairy-tale ending. Glass slipper found, princess rescued, sins forgiven.

This is enough for me.


End file.
